


Our next summers

by TerresDeBrume



Series: Tomorrow will be perfect [2]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Paris (City), Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No but really, when they really look at it, they can both tell the whole stint with Valentine didn’t leave them unscathed… thankfully though, they’re healing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our next summers

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about at the same time as _We have joy_ , the day before Clary and Jace leave for Alicante -Clary is studying Art in Paris, and Jace joined her for a weekend before they left.
> 
> **This story references past abuse -it’s fairly light, but be warned all the same.**

“Do you think I should change my species on Facebook?”

 

Jace, sitting on the backrest of Clary’s self-appointed bench, raises his gaze from  _The History of Dandelions in Western Potions_  and frowns at the screen of her laptop.

He recognizes the picture in the upper left corner -a booth picture Clary took with her mundane friend Simon a couple of years ago, back when Jace was still dating her. He remembers his jealousy when he first saw the way this lower creature dared to kiss her cheek, and the way they fought over it. Before that day, Clary had never managed to hurt him… but from then on, it was clear her fighting training really had paid off.

Jace pushes the bitterness in his throat as far back as he can manage it -he’s gotten quite a lot better at the exercice in the past year, and it barely hurts now, to think Clary isn’t his -that she never was, in truth. Not the way he used to mean it, at least.

 

“Can’t you hide it?” He asks, frowning when he realizes the exact wording is  _non-human_ _._

 

How rude.

 

“I think Isabelle considered keeping it off her profile at the beginning.”

“Isabelle has a Facebook?”

 

Clary is twisted so far back to look at Jace he almost worries she’s going to end up with a wry neck. She’s frowning, the wind coming from the Seine blowing her hair in her face, but there’s also something in her expression that looks more curious than surprised, and Jace sighs:

 

“She got it last week, I think. She said she and Aline wanted to get better acquainted with the Mundane world… Of course, Maryse and Robert are completely against it, but even they can’t ask an Institute to babysit their adult daughter.”

“They should take it up to my mom,” Clary grins with an amused chuckle, “I think part of her hoped I’d jump headfirst into a Nephilim life after I discovered the truth.”

“But here you are,” Jace chuckles with a nod to the cathedral.

“Yes,” Clary agrees, “here I am. It’s not so bad though. The view’s pretty, and she gets to visit me.”

 

Jace nods, watching Notre-Dame slowly turn orange in the last lights of the day, the low grumble of bateaux mouches filling the air between them. It’s like looking at a postcard and Jace, who learned to speak French with the most impeccable accent Valentine Morgenstern could provide, wonders why he had to wait for Clary to come studying in Paris before he thought of visiting the city.

 

“It sure beats what we have at home… skyscrapers get boring after a while.”

“I don’t, know,” Clary muses, setting her species box to display ‘Non-Human’, “Sometimes I miss them. They’re home… and everything here is so old -legacies don't sit well with me.”

 

She types Isabelle’s name in the search bar at the top of her page, and laughs when the first picture she gets in her results shows Isabelle in her best hijab, making a duck face for the camera. Jace himself can’t help but snort.

 

“Well she certainly looks happier than she did last month,” Clary comments after a pause. “San Francisco’s good for her… either that, or being away from Max.”

“In his defense,” Jace winces, “After Alec left I was the only model he ever had to know how to act around girls and women.”

 

Clary winces in turn.

 

“All in all, he turned out to be… er. Manageable?”

“He’s still a dick,” Clary sighs. “It’s a good thing we’ll know better than let him do what he wants with Isabelle in Alicante.”

“Yeah well, don’t expect me to fight him for real,” Jace warns, rubbing his hands together. “You of all people should know how well _that_ would turn out.”

“Why don't you ask you ribs if I'd be a better choice?” Clary sighs next to him.

 

She’s added Aline Penhallow to her friend list as well now, and when she goes back to her Facebook profile her friend count has gone down from a four digit-number to a three-digits one.

Jace bursts out laughing, Clary shouting for him to shut up or she’ll find a way to dump him in the river-the way she laughs as she says it betrays her words though, and Jace doesn’t feel worried in the least… in fact, he can even say he’s feeling at ease.

It’s a new kind of experience to live with Clary and the surprised, mildly-proud joy he tkes of it is only slightly marred by the wish tht could have happened sooner.

 

“There’s hope for us though,” he wheezes after a while, tears running down his face. “I mean, look at us! We’ve been together almost nonstop for three whole days and not only we haven’t fought once, but we’re even being  _friends_!”

“Not when you’re mocking my brutal social descent,” Clary retorts in a teasing tone, “we’re not!”

 

Jace chuckles again, but the laughter stays stuck in his throat when his ribs start acting up again, his muscles feeling like they’re being pinched with a worrying amount of enthusiasm.

Clary’s smile vanishes as soon as it came and she shoves her hastily-closed laptop in her shoulder bag before turning to him, hands hovering just above his shirt.

 

“Are you okay? Is it still acting up?”

“No, no,” Jace promises.

 

He lifts the black cotton of his top to stare cross-eyed at the long red line crossing his lower ribs. Clary's expression turns into a frown.

 

“They’ve healed fine... apparently it's just my brain taht's still screwing with me.”

 

Clary bites her lips with an expression of quiet guilt Jace can’t help but hate on her.

It used to be that seeing her feel guilty made his stomach twist in anticipation of their next fight -and when they fought, they fought  _bad_ \- but now it’s just about not wanting a friend to feel bad, no matter what his therapist might say.

(His therapist is an idiot, anyway.)

 

“I’m sorry,” Clary says quietly, looking at the way her hands twist over the jean of her skirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever said it since last year but I—” she’s breathing hard now, hard enough to make Jace’s eyes sting- “I’m really sorry… and not just for your rib.”

 

For a brief moment, Jace wishes she weren’t wearing a Peter Pan collar.

She’s barely taller now than she was at eighteen, and her sleeveless white blouse makes her look too much like a little girl for Jace’s heart not to melt, if only a little.

Still, none of this is enough to make him forget what exactly Clary is apologizing for nor, for that matter, that she’s not the only one with apologies to make.

 

“Well,” Jace tells her as he sets a hand on her shoulder, “I’m sorry I was a horrible person to you. I’m not saying punching me was a healthy response or anything but you know… I did definitely provoke and deserve a lot of them.”

 

Clary’s gesture against his thigh is so light it doesn’t even count as a slap and Jace -who, thank the angels, did not develop any particular problem with touching or even fighting- can’t help but snort:

 

“Like that one.”

 

Clary’s head raises up so fast her neck actually cracks this time, and her face contorts into a mixture of pain, surprise and incredulity. Jace meets her eyes, staring at her… and then for some reason, they’re laughing.

It’s not even an ordinary laugh, but rather the same kind of shrill, slightly unhinged sound they made right after they watched Isabelle take Valentine’s head off. It's the sound of nerves letting go after a lon, long time. It is not a cheerful sound -but it's liberating nonetheless.

 

“Oh God,” Clary wheezes when they’re more or less back to normal, “We are  _so_  messed up –who the hell even laughs at this kind of joke?”

“I’d rather laugh than cry,” Jace tells her. “Crying is too depressing.”

 

His face is wet though, wet and hot with the tears he’s never been able to spill before. Things you learn at a young age stay on, it seems.

They’re sitting face to face now, legs folded together to fit between them, and Clary’s head is half resting on Jace’s sternum. His heart is beating hard and fast in his ribcage, his throat feels tight, and his hands are slick with sweat where they grip the bench.

 

“Clary?”

“Yeah,” she answers without moving, “What?”

“What happens if we ever feel like getting back together at some point?”

 

Clary might not be very tall, but she still manages to unfold and strand straight with as much grace as Isabelle -a feat Jace never ceased to be surprised by.

 

“We do the smart thing,” Clary says with utmost serious, “And we reconsider.”

 

Jace grins.

 

“Now come on. There’s an ice cream I want you to try before we leave -God only knows if Alicante even knows what a freezer  _is_.”

 

(Jace is pretty sure they stun at least three sets of tourists into immobility, but in the face of his and Clary finally stopping to skirt around each other, well.

 

 

He honestly couldn’t care less.)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and critiques are welcome :)


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